


Through a Glass Darkly

by anesor



Series: Not Quite a Knave of Kirkwall [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anesor/pseuds/anesor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders side-stories, one-shots, and challenge prompts to fill in bits of his experiences, mostly before and including the <i>Dissent</i>  quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shouldn't Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even survival can be a shock. (challenge prompt)

He shouldn't have been feeling anything. Efficient and ruthless killers, he'd been surprised at the suddenness of their attack. They usually paraded their righteousness, but not this time.

The sword slid right into his heart, which tried to beat as he'd tried too late to use a force spell to push them away. The sword slid out again. He could look down to see bits of his bleeding heart.

His thoughts slowing, his rage exploded from that new part of him. Wreathed in magic he faded to the sounds of screams and meaty thuds. 

He shouldn't have been feeling anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: This was a prompt challenge for 'bleeding heart.' Thanks to my beta readers who have been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated._


	2. Symbols Are Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders struggles to aid those that must live in Darktown. (challenge prompt)

He was awake all night with a frightened girl and her delivery, her Calahad-flavored voice echoing through the crowded spaces and shadows in Darktown. A few, the curious like Rasa and Cricket, snuck closer to make sure she wasn't being raped under the city's feet, but Elessah assured the persistent Rasa until the babe was born near dawn.

Elassah was happy with her new daughter, even if she had lost everyone else in Redcliffe.

That he couldn't heal.

When they rested, his helpers appeared to start another day. They had first call on any donations they received. He didn't eat often and had sold all the things he'd earned at the Vigil to get here. He had enough.

Little Rasa came over to see him after he cleaned up and asked with big eyes, “Elessah was so pretty. Will she be pretty again?”

He needed sleep, but he could see the first bloody and stubborn mine injury of the day was being helped down the stairs on the far side of the chamber. Stepping over to the cleanest table, he told Rasa absently, “She just needs to rest.”

“Are you sure?” 

The child's doubt made the tired healer smile, but he had already delivered far more here than he had back at the Circle Tower. “Yes,” he said while rubbing his sore eyes.

Moans from the miner with his arm crushed, then took all of the healer's attention and energy, and then other injured and sick filled the rest of his day. Finally he could record his notes on his patients, with a rumbling inside that he ignored.

Elessah was resting and would have to leave the clinic for those in greater need on the next day. Rasa had been lurking enough that the mother sent her away. 

The girl darted to his table and complained, “She still doesn't feel pretty, Ser. You're a real healer. Can't you do a spell to make her pretty, so she can find a general and have a family and live happily ever after?”

His tired smile faded a little. What she asked wasn't really possible, though dark magic could create an imitation. He couldn't even help himself with happiness, especially as he was now. “No, love. Happiness isn't made by magic. I can only heal injuries or illnesses.” 

Her brow knitted, she didn't quite believe him. “You make potions too. Is there a potion that can make her feel better? Granmama used a lotion that kept her pretty. Please?”

This little girl was going to be a terror when she got older. As tired and jaded as he'd become, hiding down here from the Templars while he waited for news, he wanted to help her. 

He felt disapproval that was familiar, but still he said, “Rasa, I have to save my ingredients for people who are really sick. But we can make her a tea if you can find a few things to add. Pretty things to remind her she is pretty. So when she drinks this and gets her rest, she will show her true beauty. Now don't take these things without permission, it won't work as well. Get me some honeysuckle and pansy flowers, and... clover for that soldier. I'll get the rest...”

“Thank you!” Rasa squealed as she hugged him, almost dislodging him from his chair.

_**This is only a distraction.** _

The healer was getting better at ignoring him over some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: This was a prompt challenge for 'pansy.' Any errors that remain in this are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated._


	3. Autumn Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunshine has been lost in the darkness... (challenge prompt)

He paused what he was doing, his hands grubby from the dirt. It was quiet up here as the fall breezes whipped across the upper parts of Kirkwall. The smell of the soil and even the few weeds reminded him of life growing out of the dark soil.

_Exhausted, they marched toward the surface through the Deep Roads. The dwarven encampment when they found it again was empty of most everything but Varric's curses. Items abandoned, Bethany cried in dismay when their hopes faded in the dimness of the mages' staves._

_As they resumed their trudge, Bethany looked worse from the spreading taint that soured her usual mood. “Varric, Merrill's an out and out blood mage and she deals with demons.”_

_Varric's tired grunt from behind was agreeable._

“ _Why do you call her, 'Daisy,' when she's not innocent? Why do you have to call me 'Sunshine?” she asked petulantly._

“ _Hmm?” Sounding relieved at a new topic, the merchant brightened his voice a little. “Sunshine, you are usually bright and sunny. What should I call you? Tulip?” He followed that with kissing noises. “Or maybe daffy-dill?”_

_A snort could be heard from Hawke who marched ahead._

_Shuddering, Bethany's voice sounded distant somehow when she spoke next. “It doesn't seem right, as far underground as we are. It's so cold and dark...”_

“ _Here is where it's most right. The sun is still up there, even if we can't see it here. You'll see it again, Sunshine.” Varric's voice in the darkness was either encouraging or pleading._

The stone planters and terrace, making a small garden on this roof, was the closest thing this barren rock could get to a real garden. Some of his patients or their children found dozens of bulbs for him, and he wasn't planning on asking where they'd found the tiny dogwood sapling either. Anyone who had so many could live without a few of them. Other losses were much worse...

_After Stroud had taken Bethany further into the darkness, continuing on was harder. Tunnels were darker, stray darkspawn more disheartening, and each footstep more dejecting. Hawke drooped and he took her hand and only her hand. Varric snickered at that._

_Despite the looming disapproval, he needed to feel warm flesh after the cold and guilt for sending someone to the Grey Wardens._

_They marched and marched, until they all smelled the faintest whiffs of rain-laden air, fresh air better than any magic. He'd had no words to express his joy and relief to have gotten out of the Deep Roads again._

_But Hawke still drooped, and he damned himself to the Void briefly. She'd left sunshine in the dark, unlikely to see her ever again._

He'd heard that the final approvals were almost a formality after Varric made it out with treasure and a story, but the family didn't have possession yet. He set the dozens of bulbs in the barren planter, and he mixed in some of the nicer muck gathered from the smellier parts of Darktown by one of his more enterprising patients.

Come spring when they lived in this mansion, whatever this mix of tulips and crocus and flowering tree was that he'd found, it would bring a little sunshine to remind them of Bethany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: This was a prompt challenge for 'tulip.' Thanks to my beta readers who have been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated._


	4. Drifting Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life seems to have returned back to something like normal for Anders in the months after the successful and tragic Deep Roads expedition. Even with that he's tried to forget his attraction and guilt after Hawke lost her sister to the Joining...

The cat was uninterested in his fresh bout of cursing as he tried to comb out his tangled hair in the dawn light.

He'd slept restlessly again in the still summer heat. The draft coming up from the cooler depths of Darktown helped a little, even patients in the main clinic. It was too bad that the only way to be any cooler was to sleep on the bare stone, but he wasn't fond enough of rats to risk that.

The cat arrived a few days ago to give him company in the summer quiet of a heat wave. She was gravid and he had to worry that she or her kittens would be taken for purposes other than rat-catching, like feeding the desperate refugees. He liked to call her Lady Bounty, with some irony as she was mostly feral and avoided his assistants more than him.

As much as he liked giving her saucers of milk when he could, Darktown was not a safe place for her. Once the milk was gone, she slipped into the shadowy crevices and tunnels that made up the undercity of Kirkwall, reminding him of Hawke.

Now left only his own responsibilities for this day, the first of today's injured made their way to his clinic, even as his assistants began to trickle in. The heat led far too often to temper and carelessness and he had far more to care for than in the more pleasant seasons.

Kirkwall was much warmer than either Ferelden or his dimly remembered homeland.

He noticed, or Justice noticed, the passage of a couple of Templars past the open doors of his clinic before midday when things slowed. They only paused before continuing on. He was glad they were not planning to interrupt or even try to arrest him again. Justice might have relished the brawl, but he could do much more for the mage cause than picking a fight. Maybe they finally heard that he was a Grey Warden and not just an apostate mage.

Another head became visible, coming up the stairs to his clinic.

Then again, he shouldn't overlook the possibility that either Varric or Hawke had been bribing them into tolerance.

“Anders.” She greeted him with a smile, her green eyes still on the drowsy side. Her brown hair was in a neat pinning and her clothing of much better workmanship lately. It looked like her mother was succeeding in attempts to make her look like a proper Amell in loose silks and tooled leather. The effect was spoiled by the visible and lethal weapons, and not completely hidden armor.

The sight of that woke lower parts that Justice began to scold without words. Hawke must have just recently risen from her bed, and he wished he had been there to wake her. “Hawke. What brings you to my humble clinic today?”

Her smile became a teasing grin as she moved closer. “What, visiting my favorite Grey Warden isn't enough of a reason? I'm just glad the clinic is humble, because I'm not sure the healer is.”

Feeling better about more things than anytime in the last few months since the Tethras expedition ended, he steeled himself to ignore his spirit. “Humility is _not_ a requirement for Grey Wardens, not that my feathers are colorful enough now for much of a display. Wonder what else I could display to impress my visitor from Hightown?”

His leering innuendo did not have the effect he'd wanted, as she looked irritated and the warmth faded.

“So why haven't you come to visit, Anders? I'm fairly certain I've asked a few times.” Her eyes were sad and he refused to see that they glistened.

He looked away, almost hoping some crisis could draw him away, but there were none so he looked at the ground to avoid her eyes. “I..” He had no good reason. “I've been busy.”

That made him want to kick himself for saying something so lame. Hawke stepped closer, close enough that he could see her well-made boots.

“I thought we were at least friends, Anders.” Her voice was a small whisper.

That made him look up and meet her eyes; he could not deny her this much. Touching her cheek, he held every other muscle in place with more willpower than he ever had as a mere human. “I'm sorry, Hawke. It wasn't intentional.”

She swayed into his touch, her eyes wide and pleading.

It was still too dangerous, but he brushed fingers down to the tip of her chin, barely resisting touching her lips. “Nothing has changed.” _My dear one,_ he wanted to say. “How about if I meet everyone at the Hanged Man tonight? I'll even bring a problem for everyone to bat around.”

Hawke's mouth closed before her lips compressed. Her voice sounded forced. “That's good. You wouldn't believe some of the things Isabela tries to con us into doing after a few drinks. You can make sure someone is sober enough to tell her no. You're good at that.”

He deserved that, even if he only wanted Hawke to have a better life, one without him and the inevitability of the Templars and his execution. He didn't want to be there at the Hanged Man when she did find someone. But it looked like he couldn't avoid it. “It's not a big problem, I just need to find a safer home for an expectant Darktown mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta reader who's been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.
> 
> The challenge: write the opening sentence to a story incorporating these words: fresh, hair and tangled, in 25 words or less.


	5. Evening at Varric's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his duties in his clinic after the Deep Roads expedition is a painful memory, Anders cannot resist an occasional evening at Varric's for cards and relaxing...

Limp bodies were lounging or draped over the furniture around Varric's suite of rooms, already feeling the effects of the respectable amount of alcohol they'd brought in with them. Not all of Hawke's... circle were there, but it was nearly so. 

He was feeling relaxed, even given the lesser amount of ale that Justice allowed him to enjoy over the evening. It had been much more than he'd had in a long time, so he was feeling relaxed.

After snacks and alcohol, talk turned to funny stories, and he wasn't the only one feeling mellow.

Varric was there, of course, with his Bianca sitting uncocked on a low shelf behind him. This was a wise idea with the steadiness of the others, who moved around as they enjoyed themselves. The dwarf's eyes glittered as he took in details of the stories that the others recounted, even if he did not openly take notes.

While their host was possibly drunker than he appeared, Aveline was probably more sober than she appeared. She had arrived later than the rest and still in her guard armor, drinking sparingly. Her quarters were in Hightown, so she often escorted the others home after one of these evenings. Aveline's tales were of training and testing Kirkwall's guards, who she now commanded. These stories were funny without being witty, and usually one of the rogues would add an extra punchline even as they laughed at her trainees.

Fenris didn't share any stories, though he was doing his expert best at out-drinking everyone. Isabela and Hawke might tease him with his silence, and his more open expression while drunk and flush made him much more attractive than his usual behaviors. His reactions to the pirate's close-up teasing were funnier than some of the others' stories.

Merrill's tales from Dalish legend were polished, probably from generations and ages of retelling. Tonight's didn't have the bite of some stories he'd heard. Her recounting of how a particular Keeper tricked Templar after Templar, in what he thought was the Blessed Age, helped explain why the Chantry didn't put much effort into hunting them that often. As she drank, her occasional random comments were her contribution to the humor of the evening, intentional or not.

He leaned forward to put his elbows on the low tabletop as he quietly sipped from his mug as Isabela and Hawke sang from both sides of Aveline, a bit off key.

Of course Isabela also added many comments to the others' stories, usually salacious ones, in addition to her own stories of her travels. The stories of her lovers and the brothels she'd visited were enough to get many of the group to flush. The one that got her the most laughter came from her story of a former Templar who'd gotten lost in a brothel in Denerim. Seemed she and her first mate Casavir had cornered the man and he'd stuttered his way out of the brothel with his tail between his legs.

That got laughter from most and objections from Hawke and Aveline... as well as the mabari.

His attention had stayed on Hawke for most of the evening, though it was often out of the corner of his eyes. Justice wasn't fooled, but he hoped the others were. 

She smiled much more lately, even if the family had not gotten any notice from the Wardens about her sister's survival. 

That still gave him a feeling of guilt. It had been the girl's only chance to survive, but he knew how hard being a mage could be, even inside the Wardens. Those days at the Vigil had been almost fun at times, until Wardens from outside Ferelden arrived. Stroud had been the best of that lot, and he would not have been very welcoming to another mage.

Still, Hawke smiled as she told a story about the disaster of a smuggling operation to move a long-missing shipment of very rare Antivan brandy, bound for points south and a Denerim mansion. Hawke laughed telling of the problems with securing payment, as the noble or his steward made even smugglers more wary than usual. All that expense, and the noble never enjoyed it; he died, even before the Archdemon destroyed much of the city. 

Now, nobles and princes tried to hire her. Some who heard about her success were watching to see if she was going to play the nobility games of Orlais or Antiva now. He worried about that. 

Her story of the fine brandy had been toasted with some brandy that was not quite as good, but it was enough to warm him after the small sip he allowed himself. Hawke's story finished when they 'retrieved' the unpaid brandy, and she slid over on the bench to lean against him, smelling of ale.

Part of him was glad that she only leaned her back against his side as he leaned on the low table in front of him. That part would have moved away if she sat beside him to play any of the pirate's games. Part of him wished she had. Part of him wanted to lean back and put an arm around her to draw her warm and soft curves closer, sliding his palm and fingers across her waist to hold her against him.

He turned a little to check if she was trying one of Isabela's tricks, but her eyes weren't sparkling with mischief as Varric began another tale. He could see that her eyes were drooping shut and she was listing to her side, leaning away from the table.

The one part silent for an instant, his arm slipped around her, exactly as he imagined it. More than just holding her and feeling her breathe, despite that other part's wishes, he felt as lightheaded as if he had finished the brandy. His eyes closing and breathing deeply, he spread his fingers along her curves slowly, feeling the warmth through her leather armor.

The silence caught his attention and his eyes snapped open again.

His eyes met Varric's as the dwarf put his mug down with a clink. There he saw amusement and perhaps a touch of pity, even as the storyteller resumed his story.

When he looked around, most of the others were close to dozing as well, slumped or leaning against each other.

Part of him objected that she wouldn't fall now. But the other part insisted that he lock his arm and not slide in any direction... not feel what was only a few inches away.

Hawke stirred and leaned back against him, wriggling a little under his fingers before settling back into her doze.

He stirred as well, and ignored that part again. He would pretend... for a little while... that he could hold her like this forever, that this wasn't another nighttime fantasy in the caved-in cubby of his clinic, that she would be safe and warm in his arms.

A deep breath let him smell her hair as the story ended. 

He straightened and began his first tale of the evening. “I hadn't gotten really drunk for years; that's the first thing taken away and the last privilege returned. But I had escaped again late one summer and fled east that time, finding brief work at distasteful kind of chores that even the poorest farmers were happy to hire out, like cleaning privies in small towns and large farms...”

Varric's chuckles came just before he revealed one of his better tactics for hiding. He hadn't planned to give those details, but was very distracted when Hawke began shifting as he spoke.

“It wasn't the most pleasant way to earn a stake for travel, because a privy in a Bann's town had a rotting corpse in it. Cleaning that during the investigation paid very well and no one, not even the local Mother and her guard, came close enough to smell me.” Distracted more by Hawke's stifled laughter than even her curves, he almost slid his hand up to end what was now a pretense at best.

Part of him wanted to, desperately. But part also wanted him to let go.

Amusement shone in Varric's eyes and voice when he suggested, “This must have been good practice for Darktown, Blondie.”

His agreement was abstracted, even to him. “True. That got me through several more villages and I hadn't known that Highever even had a brothel, let alone more than one to help prevent my having extra coin if I was captured. One morning, I woke on one of the streets with all my money gone, along with the rather faded and stained pants I kept it in...”

Hawke wriggled a little closer, but made no other demands... to his relief. “...if only I could figure out where I'd left my pants.”

No comments or chuckles, told him he was the only one awake.

He never did figure out which establishment he'd lost them in, but he didn't care right now at all. Everything was quiet, within and without, as he laid his cheek against her hair before joining her in a doze.

_He only wished he could dream of her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the result of a Writer's Digest email prompt. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.
> 
> BTW: The first mate's name is taken from DAO, don't blame me for this coincidence.


	6. Extempore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric claims to Hawke and Anders that he has a lead on finding his rat of a brother for a bit of revenge, but they all get distracted by a street celebration.

“Trust me, Blondie. It's a _solid_ rumor. My soon to be departed brother is looking for bravos for that entrance of yours into the Deep Roads.” Varric pretended to polish his Bianca in the evening darkness of the quiet clinic.

He shook his head at the dwarf. “I'm _not_ going back into the Deep Roads.”

The canny dwarf raised a hand in negation. “I'm not asking that. I just want to spit on the body; we'll stay at the surface. He won't survive without a Warden, will he?” Varric tested the trigger, and even without a bolt's thunk, the crossbow's release echoed under the city.

Helplessly, he looked at Hawke. He did not want to remind her of her lost sister, that was too much to demand of her. She didn't look upset, only a little vindictive at the mention of the dwarf who betrayed them all.

“We stay near the entrance. If any darkspawn show up, we get out. Vengeance isn't worth dying for, but betrayers shouldn't profit either.” Hawke insisted, lacking her usual smile.

That trace of venom made him uneasy. “We aren't enough to venture down. You aren't Wardens.” He had less confidence fighting now. Hawke's sister had been more dangerous than he last time.

“We collect Daisy, it'll be good for her. She almost never leaves her rooms. Unless you'd prefer Broody or Aveline?” Varric was smiling now, pleased to be making progress.

He did not. Nor did he want to get the pirate. Isabella was turning her lusty attention to Hawke... and he did _not_ want to watch that. He sighed, “No.”

That only left the naive blood mage.

“It's too late to go today anyway, Anders. Let's find Merrill to talk. We'll find something good to drink, too.” Hawke sounded hopeful at that.

He was already too fond of how he could pretend when drinking. Justice didn't let him drink enough to do anything satisfying. Still, they both pretended that they didn't remember those moments.

Varric wiped Bianca one last time before slinging his customized crossbow on his back again. “Sounds like a plan, Hawke.” 

Looking about the clinic, only one patient from the Rose was sleeping. The sailor came here as soon as he made port for healing and be back to the brothel tomorrow. He'd sleep until morning. 

Stepping towards the doors, he grinned at the rogues. “I think either of you would be much faster at locking up _for_ me?”

That got him snickers and they left for the nearest stair to Lowtown. He and the dwarf debated toenails versus fingernails for Bartrand all the way to the Alienage.

His one concern, that Alienage gate might already be closed for the night, was dismissed when he saw the lights scattered around and under the great tree in the square. He heard music, lively music, as elves in bright finery danced, filling much of the square. Some seated at a table wore finery and flowers, while many moved food through the crowd.

This was colorful and joyous and full of life. A part of him welled up, that part of life and creation magic and hope. 

He looked at Hawke, but she and Varric moved slowly towards Merrill's rooms. A few elves spoke to them at the gate, but the vintner and Arianni spoke for them. The crowd left a ring of open space around them as they crossed the square. The vintner spoke to Hawke, then Feynriel brought them spiced wine. An elf snared Varric briefly, too.

Hawke knocked at the hovel's door as the healer looked back for a moment with a wistful smile at the elves dancing. 

Before he realized it the door opened, and then Varric and Hawke pulled him inside with them to shut the door. There, Merrill looked up from a huge tome in the dim room.

“Daisy, what are you doing in _here,_ with all the light outside? Don't you know daisies need the sun?” The dwarf demanded in a soothing voice.

He used to think he was that debonaire.

“What, is it dark already? Andaran atish’an. The words nearly fly through my mind and make the time fly away from me. Or is that just me? 

“Even I go outside,” Hawke said with a little exasperation. “You should too.”

“I...” Merrill spoke sadly. “I am not the Keeper they need here.”

Laughing, Varric swept an arm grandly. “Neither am I, yet here we are. We came for another reason, but I think I'll look for your storyteller and trade tales.”

Merrill seemed off, even to him. Perhaps it was Justice's prompting, but he asked, “If you are not a Keeper, then why isolate yourself from them, like mages locked in the Gallows?”

The other mage wilted a little as if she truly was a flower. “No, I suppose that is true. But then, I am not the only one to be locked away by my responsibilities, am I?”

When he looked at Hawke, her eyes had closed.

“Well, Daisy, if you trust the feet of a Tethras, this music is better than we'd find at the Hanged Man tonight. We can talk business tomorrow.” Varric bowed to the elf so the hem of his coat flared out. He swept Merrill and Hawke in front of him towards the festivities outside.

Anders followed and settled on a bench with his drink. He wondered if tonight was the night some dark and handsome elf would sweep her into the dance. That this would be the night her grace would be mirrored as he could only watch.

He lost sight of the others in the crowd and drank. 

Then slim hands pulled him up to his feet and into the dancing, to drown in her laughing, mossy green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge words are daisies, dance, and demand. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.


	7. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has grown mostly contented with dregs of quiet and platonic time with Hawke, despite his desires. But his spirit cannot approve of those desires that have not ebbed over the lengthening time since the Deep Roads...

With his waking breath, he lounged in a hazy summer dream before the Blight. The wild, free smell of wood and soil lurked under the soaring sweetness of flowers. 

His sleepy mind flipped through a herbal studied at Kinloch. _'Lonicera. Woodbine. Twinberry. Goat's leaf. Honeysuckle. Vining, sometimes poisonous. Not proven useful for healing, slows clotting. Vines used for binding and textiles. Flowers produce sweet, edible nectar...'_

As he licked his lips at memories of that sweet nectar on soft lips, a warm weight against his side shifted slightly. He was almost surprised to smell the honeysuckle on Hawke, her head bent over a book where they sat on a sofa in front of the fire's embers. His head clearing, they'd talked about some notes in a mage's journal from the Hawke library.

Those notes were common to any mage's work journal, he didn't have to consider explanations. Still, he'd been tired when he arrived and then dozed off.

_**You have a duty. This is a waste of your time, our time. Mages like Karl are destroyed every day while you lounge like this.** _

_I do need to sleep._

_**Then sleep, do not yield to lust.** _

_What lust? Herbs aren't sex._

_**You desire. Your thoughts were a swamp of those desires even as you woke. Your fingers are splayed against her flesh even**_ _ **now**_ _ **. You are weaker than I'd thought.**_ Justice's voice was full of contempt and the spirit tried to stand.

 _And I told you fighting outside the Fade takes time and strategy, not a bigger sword._ He wanted control over the fractious spirit, paralyzing his own muscles and gripping metal flanges on her armor to hold still.

Angry now, Justice swelled. _**I will strengthen you to fight. You fail**_ _ **all**_ _ **mages with your weakness.**_

He'd yanked back some physical control, but he could feel the spirit pulling on his magic too. Magic first, because Hawke had no hope of evading them this close.

As he raced to seal off Fade energy, Justice didn't speak but seized greater control of their muscles.

In the boundless now he was winning and started to relax a little. Suddenly his fingers thrust through armor laces, preparing magic or physical rending. He didn't know which. In fear, he grabbed everything he was back... enough to jump off the sofa. 

He stumbled away, glad to feel he had full control again.

Hawke tumbled to the floor as he jumped away, her armor laces looking a little singed. He had trouble breathing on seeing that.

“Anders?” Hawke's green eyes were wide with worry as her tome finished falling over with a loud thunk.

The worry warmed his heart, but her half-step forward with her open hand raised, terrified him.

So he forced an old smile on his face. “I told you I wasn't staying. I never stay the night, it raises too many expectations...”

Hawke rolled her eyes with a tiny smile as if he was joking. “I know better than to have those expectations by now. Relax.”

His heart shrank more because she wasn't listening and Justice was too dangerous.

He didn't want this.

These times were now the best times of his week.

He hardened his voice into something darker, something meaner, hoping to disguise what he really felt. “Sweetheart, it's been fun, letting you cuddle up against me like some stupid kitten about to be dumped in some water barrel. You think I fancy you? Don't kid yourself. I've had mages and farmers and whores, more than I can count. Isabella isn't even among the most beautiful. You're not even that vibrant.”

Her face fell a little, her smile forced. “Is this Justice?”

He laughed, and met her eyes as he jerked his hips. “No, I've got no _justice_ for you. I'm not even interested in your big flange. I expect more than a _thug_.”

He wanted to apologize right then, but Justice was _finally_ quiet.

Hawke was safe from them both.

Her face blank with surprise at first, all expression melted away as she looked closely at him. “I see. I am sorry to have imposed on your patience. Are you still interested in any paying missions?”

Pretending to think, he gave a flamboyant bow. His stubborn heart started beating again.

Nothing else was said as he gathered his staff and slunk back to Darktown.

Pretending the next several days at his clinic that nothing changed was hard. Every morning he used cooling magic to remove the redness on his face.

He didn't see Hawke, though the storyteller seemed suspicious when gossiping about Hawke and the pirate. He hoped he fooled Varric.

He started writing more: lists, treatises, sonnets, case studies, odes, and manifestos. He destroyed every love letter, every apology, only to write a more polished one days later. The only writing that helped was to educate and advocate for the other mages.

A fortnight later he could again leave his clinic for short periods without panic at the thought of seeing Hawke.

An elven servant from the Blooming Rose pounded on the door late one Tuesday night, panting incoherently about injury and dismemberment. He grabbed his bundle of supplies and raced through dark streets.

The Rose was loud, and a rowdy group played some drinking game. He passed over the busy Serendipity and Isabella.... He almost halted on the stairs when he saw Hawke sprawled over Adriano's lap. 

He stopped looking, unwilling to see more. His face felt frozen, still climbing.

When he finished healing the sailor who'd hurt himself with the three-nug special, he prayed that party had ended.

He didn't have that kind of luck: Hawke's eyes met his as she came out of another room. The ice inside him spread when he saw that she moved as if she had been well screwed.

He desperately wished it had been him.

Her face flushed.

He hoped, almost, she caught something so she would visit him.

She looked at the floor.

He turned and left the whorehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt words are: fancy, factious, and flange. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.


	8. Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has managed to gain some space and the spirit's anger with Hawke has been appeased. But after some visits to the clinic and the Hanged Man, his merchant friend has had enough of the status quo.

A curvy woman slid into his clinic shortly after dawn, and his hopes fell when he saw it was Isabela. She demanded he heal another rash she'd picked up, after regaling him with a long tale of debauch at the Rose that only started with drinking. 

He wanted to beg more about it, beg the names, but he was afraid what names they would be after his last visit months ago. Despite himself, he imagined the carefree pirate mirroring Hawke's deftness in bed, their quips and curves... He tore his imagination away from that glorious image where the darker rogue faded away, leaving the bed for him. His heart beating faster, he couldn't resist making a tiny noise of want.

The pirate didn't seem to have noticed and rolled her eyes when he followed his healing with a salve and instructions. He was proud he made only one cutting comment while she smirked at him. 

A boot scrape he didn't hear, and he looked up to see Hawke entering his clinic too. His thoughts warred; would she need healing just like Isabela had and that he once foolishly hoped to give her? But Hawke's expression was clean curiosity and amusement on seeing that Isabela needed healing.

That wasn't the expression of lovers and his heart eased. He was too familiar with reading mages who hid lovers' expressions in Kinloch.

 _ **This time,**_ he was reminded by Justice. _**She sent away her mage sister and**_ _ **profited more from the Deep...**_

_Don't be stupid._

He greeted Hawke and spoke with her until the pirate got bored and left. Hawke didn't say much personal, just bits of news about the princeling, dwarf, and elves, her voice like rain on his parched soil. More surprising were letters of credit for supplies for his clinic, generous amounts that would supply him for many weeks along with names of merchants who awaited his convenience. Her speech moved on to a harvest party at her mansion in days.

_**She tries to buy you. She distracts you from even your healing.** _

That he ignored. He saw that her eyes smiled only a little as they spoke, and the tension was all his own. He told her he might come.

After she left, he argued with himself for the rest of the day, the darkness of his home a greater drain than usual. He craved the sun and light she brought with her.

His spirit did not care.

He looked around the short collapsed tunnel that was his room. He felt like some mole, hiding from the sun, no longer living anymore, waiting to die and be buried like this in the Deep Roads. 

He could not visit her, that was too tempting, too risky. There were few he considered friends, but only one who he felt he could trust. He charged out of Darktown into Lowtown and into the Hanged Man. 

Varric and Isabela were speaking, their feet propped up in the long, stone table in his suite. He told a story of the lost thaig to entertain them, after they compared rumors and stories from the Pearl.

He had relaxed even if he had not been drinking, and was surprised after Isabela left for the jakes.

“How long are you going to draw this out, Blondie?”

“What?

“Don't pretend you don't know. You can't carry off drunk anymore, so answer the question.”

He could feel his frown. “It's not your business.”

“Look, Isabela's memory of Denerim isn't _that_ bad, so why are you doing this to Hawke? Or is it a coincidence that you came out of your rat-hole clinic when Hawke gave you the invitation for her party? Now, when you haven't been out for months now?”

“There's nothing between us,” he denied to his own personal gadfly.

“You aren't that good an actor, Blondie. Something happened a while back, and 'Bela told me a tale of you both at the Rose, leaving separately and at odds.”

He couldn't deny it all. “I was called for an injury, nothing else.”

“And Hawke didn't leave her estate for a week. Look, we both know the Wardens' reputations so this stance of yours doesn't fit the rest of the story. Look, I'd rather you screw her and dump her than keep drawing this out forever like this. Hawke's strong and she'll get over it.”

He could not breathe.

Despite the roaring from his spirit, he looked Varric in the eyes with desperation clawing his throat. “But I won't.

“I can't do that to her.”

“Then you got a problem, Anders. Go to her party, be a bastard, be a lover, but you better be her friend. Not this selfish nose rag she's afraid to ask to a party for weeks.”

He wanted, and wanted despite these endless weeks, remembering how right she'd felt in his arms as they'd exited the Deep Roads into fresh air. How she brightened the dark space of his clinic. “Maker help me, I can't... I'll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge prompt words are glorious, gadfly, and generous. Thanks go to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.


	9. Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders was convinced by smooth-talking Varric that shunning Hawke's company wasn't helping either of them, but who's practicing the subterfuge on whom now?

He looked at himself in the cracked mirror, seeking some visible mark from his changes and how dangerous he was. He had more wrinkles than before his Joining; he touched smile lines by his eyes, surprised they hadn't been lost from the determination of the spirit within.

Through luck or small miracle, his face was still unmarked, unlike his hidden scars. His robes didn't scream that he was a mage, and he had grown to like his added mobility and ability to be taken as just any other man once in a while. He missed his enchanted and just more handsome robes. 

The spirit wasn't pleased at his vanity, but he thought a walking corpse could persuade mortals for a logical and just cause. He knew better, but he doubted the ageless Justice could ever really understand that.

Hawke somehow looked cleaner and innocent, despite all that he knew she survived. Smuggler and killer of darkspawn like him, he felt ages older than the few years' difference in their ages.

A deep bell rang through Darktown for work gangs somewhere within, and he realized it was probably time to leave. He'd washed his robes and carefully froze them so they'd evaporate dry, but washing was about all he could do to prepare for Hightown. 

Sighing, he'd promised Varric.

His flew up stairways to Hightown, though he'd feel better carrying his mage's staff. He could easily defeat a few muggers without. He wanted to fiddle with it as he watched the vine covered facade of the Amell-Hawke estate.

A guardswoman went inside, and when the door opened, he heard music. He closed his eyes and stood under a pergola in the square, afraid of what he might see if he went in: someone worthy. Almost perfectly balanced was his need to see her.

Gathering his will, he entered and saw there weren't that many people present. He knew almost all of them, and relaxed... a little. 

Lirene was talking to Leandra and he saw that a few familiar Ferelden refugees were enthuiastically playing instruments in the chamber overlooking the entry hall. Isabela was on the steps, either amusing or pursuing the compatible prince and escaped slave. The merchant Bodahn was telling them how he and his son escaped the Deep Roads when Bartrand fled his own expedition. Even as he watched, an elven smuggler rescued Fenris for a business proposal in another corner discussion.

And Hawke, Hawke was in a lively talk with Aveline and some guards about brigands and qunari around Kirkwall. 

Their eyes met and he breathed cleaner air on seeing a flash of her smile.

He could do this, he realized as a lieutenant got Hawke's attention.

Varric entertained Merrill with an embellished version about the fall of Amaranthine, she enthralled by Velanna's feats.

He didn't want to remember the burning and horrendous stench of the dying city and darkspawn that carried for miles. That he didn't want to remember, any more that the burnt flesh after Roland...

He fled through the open door to the next room, and his eyes drank in the sight of the tallest and most filled bookshelves he'd seen in his years since Kinloch. Last time he saw only a fraction of these books in here.

Unable to resist these riches, he sampled each shelf and discovered that he might find a travelogue on the Dales beside an herbal for treating burns. A few times he almost wanted to cry when he found crude quips from the pirate scribbled inside. 

Happy to check every book for something he didn't know, he lost track of time until a booming voice said from his side, “Enchantment?”

He must have jumped.

He almost felt like his heart stopped.

“No, Sandal. This is a fine library, but books don't come from the Fade.” _Was that his voice squeaking?_

Sandal nodded as if he understood. “Not enchantment. Owain gets books collection.”

Hawke's mabari made some dog noise and Hawke followed him into the library. The book could wait.

This time he couldn't breathe because she looked so lovely in the fine feathers of a noblewoman, green embroidered silks and imported cottons.

Neither of them moved, but when he finally took a breath, one thing came out. “Hawke.” He had to look away from her gaze and he realized that the savant and the mabari had gone.

Her voice came lightly. “You found the collection from the shut off parts of the house: attics and cellars. Some are newer than when Uncle lost the place, and Mother shipped some from Lothering. But most are old. I'm a little scared of figuring out old Tevinter big words.”

He smiled gratefully at a bookshelf. “I was admiring the variety. You need to get them organized, or a library has little valu...”

“Are you volunteering?” Hawke's voice wasn't neutral anymore.

The right answer was like falling off a log and he dallied without thinking, his voice deepening. “Depends on what you're offering...” 

Too late his shocked spirit turned to see if she was being serious or flirting like Isabela.

Hawke had moved silently next to him, her eyes held a trace of hope still. 

She was so close, she smelled of honeysuckle, wild and free. “What do you want?”

She was so close that he could have done any of a dozen things and he ached to enact his daydreams with her. Of reaching out and crushing her to him, her lips a fine wine.

She was too close and his spirit vibrated with how much her smile was a threat to his cause. That she blocked freedom for all mages by herself.

He was vibrating with his need to touch and need to avoid anything that risky for her.

His movements a losing battleground, his mouth was still free to hint what he _wanted_. “Only _this moment_ and your safety.”

Hawke sighed. “Done and done. You'll find something interesting every time.” 

He sighed in relief, some things Justice didn't understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt words are happy, horrendous, and hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia (shorter to say fear of long words), which the last word should be taken out and shot for being pretentious. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.


	10. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has agreed to help Hawke with the books left behind by Amell and Tevinters, and his spirit has barely accepted that some of the knowledge will help his healing or the mage cause. But seeing Hawke regularly has it's own frustrations...

Within a few weeks of Hawke's party, his schedule changed. On Tuesdays, he would neaten himself and walk up to Hightown and Hawk's estate to organize her books, even as some more rare tomes were unearthed in hidden corners. Most weeks she spent part of the time with him, talking about the library and events around Kirkwall.

He missed one week entirely after a large accident at the Foundry, and he ended up sending beggars to call everyone he knew who had steady hands and weren't squeamish. That meant he called Hawke and Hawke called the others, though Aveline was already there with a swarm of guards. Every other week, he climbed those stairs, eagerly anticipating his visit.

Slowly over the months as Hawke and Leandra settled in, the closed off areas were emptied. Then workers were brought in by the enthused Bodahn and repairs and improvements started. It would take months, with Leandra trying to restore much of how she remembered it.

That meant some days it was so loud indoors, he found Hawke up on the quiet and private roof garden. The planters held their bright flowers which had already multiplied. Hawke was close to the edge as she looked out over the city, or toward the tiny ships leaving port. Despite whatever Justice wanted, he didn't want her to leave Kirkwall.

He felt a pang as it hit him deeply. She could go, back to Ferelden or even cosmopolitan places like Antiva or Orlais now. She was rich enough with name, estate, and even investments. He lifted a hand, wanting to say something, anything against that fear, but let his hand fall even as she began to turn.

The bright sun on her hair and strong breezes ruffled her hair this high over the city... this was how he wanted her life, unfettered by a fugitive abomination.

He lived in the shadows of the Circle, of the Taint, and in Darktown. It was too late for him.

Hawke's smile was bright. “I see you noticed the... enthusiastic construction downstairs. I'm not sure we could get much done down there today.”

His forced smile got real. “It's not a bad thing to get sunshine and fresh air too. I get too many with lung problems as it is.”

“Should I get checked after visiting the Foundry? Maybe my lungs got filled with that crap, it almost hurt to breathe for a while.” Her voice got a bit huskier as she glided closer.

“Hawke, don't.” He was now the one who couldn't breathe.

Hawke looked up, close but not touching him. She looked annoyed. “What? Lung-crap of metal dusts isn't the stuff of seduction. It's not like I'm going to throw you down and rip your clothes off up here.”

_Maker, yes!_

_**Frivolous distractions. You are not plumbing the knowledge of a useful library today.** _

_Leave my daydreams be!_

He closed his eyes, but that didn't help as his imagination painted a different kind of plumbing among the scents of hyacinth and tulips. 

So he opened his eyes and took a couple of breaths. “Sorry.” He decided to leave it there because he wanted nothing more than for her to do that right now.

“Can you check, please? My cough is lasting a bit too long...”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, his healing a little more effective if closer. There was a problem in the lower part of her lungs. It had partly healed on its own already, but she took deeper breaths as he worked.

The deepest part of her lungs had globs of metal dust, making combat more risky until it might slowly heal. Unconsciously, his hand shifted a little.

_**Not there! Or there! Or... This is to heal one of your allies, not to indulge carnally!** _

His argument had to be cogent. _You know it won't work as well._

The spirit didn't object to him hesitantly placing his other hand on her other shoulder, and he swept his arms around her, his hands on the back side of her rib cage, making an embrace.

Displeased at Hawke being a warm presence pulled closer against him, Justice held the rest of him stiff and awkward as he healed Hawke. 

Hawke understood better than Justice and didn't move, aside from laying her cheek against his chest, and he felt better.

“ _ **Do not provoke this kind of injury again!”**_ Justice grated at her.

Hawke stiffened. “ _Anders_ called me for help. Would it be fair to let them die when there are people he can trust to help?”

He pulled her closer for a brief embrace when he was done healing. “No. I should get back if we can't work today.”

“I'm sorry I irritated him.”

He shrugged, he'd lost count of that long ago. He just enjoyed holding her, even like this with his imagination running wild. He dared the briefest of kisses of her hair and stepped back out of range. “I'll see you next week, unless Varric has another game I can lose at.”

She smiled and gave a small salute.

He hurried off, visions of what he wanted to do crowding in. Only Justice's determination to get back to the clinic prevented him from rushing back and begging.

When he reached his clinic, it wasn't long until he normally closed and only one of his assistants remained. It had been a quiet day, and Justice subsided as he sent the refugee home with most of his remaining coins. He swept up and locked up, his mind still racing.

Once undressed and on his cot, his mind flew back up to the sunlit and open place again. He indulged every his every wish safe within his imagination until even the Warden stamina was worn out, and the sounds outside said he'd had yet another sleepless night.

He couldn't regret it, he could regret that it wasn't real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt words that helped this story are rare, beggar, and cogency. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.


	11. Rivalni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending cautious time with Hawke is enough to keep Anders satisfied as time passes, but Isabela is interested too and she has no reason not to seize her advantage.

Months passed and little changed. He helped mages escape through the shrinking mage underground, just about any day but Tuesdays. 

The Hawke library was organized enough for anyone not obsessed with research. He'd set books set aside for perusal on days when Hawke was absent. Personal journals in archaic language recorded treatments for fluxes and their opposites; soon he started making jujube and burnet into lozenges for Darktown.

Rainy days with Hawke were better, and she talked at a safe distance on the sofa from him. She asked about whatever tome he studied, Circle- or Tevinter-written. His impromptu lectures were triggered by insightful questions from her. Her impromptu naps, she claimed were due to his voice.

She wasn't quite awake when she admitted that and then flushed charmingly.

He couldn't help feeling awed that she trusted him so, and reminded Justice they would _not_ hurt her.

Hawke stopped following the plan when Aveline asked for help with Flint Mercenaries who returned to the Wounded Coast with an ax to grind. There were enough travelers and merchants hurt that Hawke went hunting.

When Hawke went hunting, he made the time, always.

She wasn't cautious enough, attacking mercenaries stronger and more armored. For that, he tolerated the mage-hating and apathetic warriors. It took weeks to track the Flints, and sometimes the warriors didn't come and Isabela did.

They passed close enough to the Dalish settlement after one skirmish that Hawke and Merrill had a quiet disagreement. Waving them to wait, he wasn't sure which one won their point, but soon the two were speaking to the Dalish Maker.

He decided to enjoy the fresh air away from Kirkwall.

What he hadn't expected was a slim hand reaching under his coat, and he jumped. “Isabela!”

She was very close, her tunic blindingly white in the sunlight as she pouted. “Come on, Anders. I miss that trick with the electricity. You look like you do too, you're all grumpy now.”

“Magic isn't for show...” he started, all of him annoyed.

“Not _just_ for that, but it's a lot more fun. Hawke's got the figure in this armor that finally fits her. I wonder what kind of leather it is... wyvern? Maybe even dragon. Balls, who even cares?” Isabela's leer came with a satisfied lick of her own lips.

He could not repress his jealousy, and his gaze swept to Hawke as he remembered seeing her with Adriano at the _Rose_ , many months ago. He gritted his teeth; he'd told Hawke over and over to find someone else.

He had no right to get upset, whatever she chose to do.

He turned away, aching.

“I'd be happy to help you get over Grumpy in a wild orgy with Hawke. I bet she's got great taste. She's a challenge and I'd bet together we can overcome any shyness with her...”

“I'm not that man, Hawke deserves more.” He was very sure of this.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “You got it bad... what a waste. Well, I'm not giving up.”

He sighed and forced himself to speak through the rock in his stomach. “Be my guest. I _want_ her to be happy.”

A gleam appeared in the pirate's eyes. “I think I will.” She swaggered over to Hawke as Merrill was speaking to the merchant.

Hawke turned back to look at him, her paling face clear from even this distance.

The rock in his stomach became a boulder.

Nothing overt happened next. Hawke and Merrill finished their purchases. Isabela strutted back, looking like a cat wearing the cream. They didn't find any more mercenaries and returned to Kirkwall. Merrill turned toward her hovel with cheerful farewells.

Isabela saluted mockingly as she walked toward the _Hanged Man._ “See you Friday, Hawke! Don't be late!”

He and Hawke continued walking until the silence became awkward, and still he didn't know what to say.

They kept walking, all the way up to Hightown and her estate.

Inside the entrance Hawke came to a stop, her face flat instead of her usual smile. The tension was sharp enough to shave by.

“ _What was that,_ Anders?”

He felt defensive and wanted to say that he didn't do it, but he only shrugged. “What?”

Hawke got angrier, her eyes flashing and making her even more beautiful. “You _pandered_ me off to Isabela! How could you do that? What do you think of me to do that? Just because I flirt once in a while doesn't mean I'm about to start turning tricks. I'm not that desperate!”

“No, Hawke. That wasn't what I meant.” He tried to speak over the happiness ringing from his spirit. His knees wobbled and felt like jelly, so he dropped to a bench before he fell.

“Oh, really?” Hawke's sarcasm was layers thick. “A few words here and there, a hug? And now you're comparing notes about my figure and taste with Isabela? Why are you doing this? If you want it sexless, then you keep it sexless, you worthless nug-shit.”

“I...” Why? Why was he doing this? Why he wanted her so much he'd do anything to keep her safe, even from himself? He couldn't explain how Hawke became the center of his life and hopes. He had no compelling logic to keep Justice convinced.

He _wanted_ to take her in his arms to apologize. He _wanted_ to beg and taste her himself. He _wanted_ to be free to stand beside her every day of their lives. “I told Isabela only that she could pursue you if she wished. I have no right to imply I have any say otherwise.” He felt defeated.

Hawke's face settled into a simmer, rosy from anger. “Fine. Get out.”

Standing in a rush, he ached to hold her. “Hawke?” His voice wobbled more than he wanted to admit.

Her face was harsh and she looked away. 

The band around his chest tightened. He raised a pleading hand toward her and fear choked out, “I'll see you Tuesday?”

Hawke nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt challenge words are jelly and jujube. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.


	12. Deep Pressures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devastated that Hawke and Isabela were meeting, Anders learns that a particularly vile Templar is agitating for a 'Tranquil solution. He reluctantly calls for help from Hawke and the others more tolerant of helping mages like Isabela and Merrill... with disastrous results.

Kirkwall was a gloomy stone pit, regardless of any sunlight. Friday, he hadn't gotten an invitation from Varric for cards and was afraid of what would happen if he tried to find Hawke and Isabela in a jealous fit.

He kept telling himself that nothing had _truly_ changed. He _wanted_ Hawke to be happy. She wouldn't turn from the mage cause. He wouldn't lose her friendship because she slept with Isabela. He'd had other close friends that he didn't see as often when they coupled in new combinations.

But he'd lost them just the same, and Karl's doubled loss from Tranquility burned again.

His spirit hummed with pleasure at this development.

All he could think of was Isabela and Hawke in scenes quiet and scenes erotic. Mostly Hawke, painted in imagination as slipping away with Isabela, like he'd first lost Karl. _He_ wanted to seduce, love, and cherish Hawke, if it weren't for what he'd become.

Last night was their tryst, and the pirate good at seizing her opportunities.

Thoughts of them left him irritated; he snapped at his assistants and even at one patient. Ashamed of himself, he apologized and tried for quiet the rest of the morning, until he got a message from Lirene.

He left his clinic in charge of his assistants and sought Lirene for more news. What he learned was more alarming and fit all too well with what mages he'd been helping to escape told him. Weekly, more mages were made Tranquil, crushing their souls and leaving only empty shells, just like Karl.

A Harrowed enchanter named May had sent a calm letter to her family in Lowtown, too calm. Her family was in mourning. He felt terrible. If only he'd...

_**You dawdled with your lusts and diversions!** _ _ **This** _ _**is what happens.** _

What he had to prevent at any cost were emotionless shells that wore Karl's face like still Orlesian masks. He prayed May's family never met her again; seeing a puppet with her face was not what he'd wish on anyone. Part of him had died and would never recover.

Lirine had little more news to pass on from her sources; senior Templars were at the center of these Rites of Tranquility. Alrik and his ilk were very active right now, taking young mages away, and not for their Harrowing.

Justice wanted to rush in, blazing with magic. That he knew was suicide and he managed to calm himself with a plan, a plan to take more direct action. They would get proof that the corruption was against the Chant and not just the mages. The Grand Cleric or Viscount _must_ listen if he found proof.

He needed proper evidence of their plans in their own hand, from non-mage witnesses too.

Justice quieted at the suggestion of evidence and some kind of judgment, though it wasn't a guarantee with how the spirit was.

His heart jumped at the need to send a message to Hawke, and he dreaded the probability that she was still carousing at the _Rose_ or _Hanged Man_ with Isabela. He didn't think he could stand seeing them like that, so he asked Hawke to meet him at his clinic. He _couldn't_ wait until his heart healed, until he could endure their company. He had to put his pain aside, because Hawke would help.

He had a better chance of remembering his responsibilities when in the clinic, which had few patients lately. The last victims of the Qun saar-qamek went home this week.  His other patients should be leaving yet tody, so he'd have the privacy he needed to speak about the passages below the Gallows.

Soon Hawke arrived, and she brought Isabela. They wore rumpled clothing and he fancied that he smelled how they spent Friday night, in alcohol and bed. He wouldn't stand close enough to be sure.

The talk was impersonal as he explained the problem to them. Mercifully, Isabela didn't comment much, probably as explaining to Merrill ruined the humor.

Hawke got serious quickly. He led her over to the old lyrium smuggling tunnel that traveled under the bay out to the island where the Gallows Circle prison awaited.

His spirit approved of the group, all mages or rogues and safer for their cause. He almost wished for Oghren's help, even with the belches.

Moving carefully through tunnels and caverns deep under the harbor, it never felt as oppressively lifeless as the Deep Roads. Spiders didn't attack from malice. Smugglers attacked from greed. Then they moved higher again, through caverns with some natural light. Some places had simple stonework, looking ancient in the dim light.

Sounds echoed strangely as they moved from cavern to cavern, until he could hear the murmurs of voices. Smugglers were a danger, even if their profit depended on the same tunnels he used.

Hawke silently moved closer, her face grim. The other women moved more quietly than he did as well.

Then he heard the threats echoing and a girl's pleas. Hawke was moving even as Justice got enraged and seized control to attack Alrik.

Through the roaring of their rage, Hawke's pleading voice drifted in to him. “...she's the reason you're doing this.”

He started fighting, and saw a mage girl cowering while his body crackled with magical energy, poised to blast her..

_No, NO! We cannot!_

_**She is corrupted by their abuse. She will pass accepting their abuses as if deserved to the next generation. The cycle continues and must be broken!** _

The robed girl was lost Karl and May, was flippant Surana and idiot Jowan... was sweet Bethany and Hawke...

_NO!_

Shaking and blinded, he stumbled away, overflowing with self-disgust.

_He was a monster._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This had to be coming, and only one line is canon. Many thanks are for my beta reader who has always been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know of missed errors or what you think would be very appreciated.


	13. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stumbling back to his clinic, Anders has lost all hope and prepares to leave.

He stumbled up the steps, battered and sore. His knees moved in odd directions like stilts. He couldn't remember the caverns and tunnels returning to Darktown, but suddenly **there** was the ladder leading up to the large chamber outside his clinic.

The dim light falling down on him almost gave him hope, until he remembered who and what he left behind.

The satisfaction of his spirit, he ignored. There was _nothing_ to be satisfied about.

Empty of any feeling but shame and loathing for what they'd become, he climbed out of the tunnel and made his way back to his clinic. The clinic was once the symbol of his hopes, now it was only his place of shame. He might as well go into the Deep Roads now. He was... no, _they_ were as big a threat to other mages as a Templar.

Justice either didn't understand or didn't care.

He'd always wanted to heal others, so combat magics were only theory until he survived his first darkspawn attack. Then under the Warden, he'd worked hard at polishing his attack spells against those monsters.

But Ella was no darkspawn and _he_ was the monster.

Mages like her were why he started fighting for more than just his own survival. They didn't know the outside world. Like hothouse flowers, they were recaptured so easily. It wasn't their fault they didn't know any better.

He knew better.

 _Justice_ should know better.

When he looked into his clinic, he was surprised to see a few patients and his assistants inside. The sun had risen, life continued, and his trip into despair hadn't taken that long.

He snorted at himself. It had taken _years_ for Justice to take more and more of his life, starting with the Wardens who had been his friends. They'd been Justice's friends too, but they would have disapproved and he didn't want their blood on his hands too.

He had enough blood already.

Before entering, he looked at himself. He didn't want to alarm his patients. Then he almost laughed hysterically, but clenched his jaw shut until the spasm ended. He looked no worse than after any other of Hawke's missions.

The rock in his gut grew larger, but he walked into the clinic.

His assistants were used to his returns like this; these missions helped provide supplies, after all. Everyone else was calm and serene. He stalked past them with only nods, easing past the rubble to the open closet where he kept his few possessions.

He looked around and almost laughed; he'd owned more in the Circle. Some spare clothing, a few references, a worn staff that Hawke had replaced even before the Deep Roads.

His reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall seemed too, too apt. He face was worn out and older than the few years since his Joining. He touched the cool glass, tracing the crease between his eyebrows. He'd never had that before Justice. His clothes in tatters... 

_Why should Hawke be interested, anyway?_

Heedless, he smashed his fist into the mirror, reveling in the crack of the glass and the force that shook through his arm. Most of the pieces tinkled to the stone floor in metallic rush. He ground the shards into the wall with his knuckles.

Stane came close to the open door, and asked if he needed help.

He muttered a response and his assistant moved away.

He sighed and used a spell to help clean out the wound and heal himself. Bleeding on his patients was never approved. 

Time to clean out everything else. He should leave the herbals and potions, he wanted the clinic as self-sufficient as he could make it. He rooted through his writings and notes, gathering the papers into an armload to take out to one of the fires. He fell to his knees beside the fire to sort through the papers, and he started tossing them into the fire, one by one.

These pages were pointless, his musings and verse scattered among notes on herbs and patient care. All the personal ones went into the fire: odes to the delicate tracery of her facial tattoo, manifesto drafts, doodles, celebrations of lethal grace, lists of people to approach, and imagined daydreams of what their life could have been.

Could have been if he hadn't become a monster. His dreams went up in smoke.

A hand touched his shoulder and he swayed a little toward her, but he refused to look at her, at them. 

Hawke's voice was quiet. “I brought your proof.”

That goal seemed an age ago, and he paused in burning his papers.

She pulled on his coat, forcing him to stand and face her. With her other hand, she put a many-folded paper in his face. 

He took it, looking up at her compassionate face. Only then did he notice that she hadn't brought back-up to talk to the monster and it got a trifle easier to breathe.

Only then did he read, and his jaw dropped with his surprise. The tranquil solution had been rejected. There was a small reason to hope that the mages of Kirkwall might get some relief from Meredith and her Templars.

Even more, Hawke was smiling now. She had seen him at his worst and she didn't fear him. 

The rock dissolved and he felt as light as a feather. 

He tried to distract himself with some small tasks, sweeping or feeding another feral cat, but Hawke watched him silently. She was waiting for something and he wasn't sure what.

His thanks to her meant so much more than just those slips of paper or the mages from Starkhaven. Justice didn't bother to object to those, as incoherently as they were coming out. She must truly believe mages like her father and sister deserved better.

That was denied when she purred that she liked underdogs. She almost said... like him.

Andraste, she was doing it for _him._ Her father and sister forgotten, she believed _in him_.

Maybe he wasn't a monster. He grasped that line to the surface and safety and her. His relief and joy and lust were flaring up as he flew higher toward...

Holding himself very still, so still it might as well have been Justice's doing, he warned her again, his voice cracking with his conflict. _Please, be safe from me...from us._

Her hand ghosted along his arm. “I don't want you to resist, to keep me safe. I want you.”

Her words, her touch, and his resistance crumbled. He lunged forward to seize her head for a kiss that exploded out of him. Pleading, frustration, want, need, all he'd been holding in for so long.

After an instant, her lips softened and mouth opened. He tasted her for the first time, dizzied by her. Arms dropping he pulled her against himself and felt soft and yielding flesh against him. Trailing kisses along her jaw to her naked ear, he nipped it as he pulled her hips against his engorged hardness.

Her fingers trailed down his back and under his coat, slipping in and out, fabric and skin, pulling him closer too.

_**She distracts you from the mages! She is a sloth demon to make you satisfied and forget their oppression. She is a lust demon that makes you...** _

_Makes my flesh sing._ He shoved the spirit away and drank in her sweet sounds until he pulled back. She looked dazed as he felt.

Even though he stepped away, her grip slid down his forearm until she held his wrist. Without meaning to, he held her wrist as well and felt a silly smile on his face.

Justice was rumbling his disapproval. 

He babbled about disasters and chances of dying at any time. One truth was that he couldn't live without her; the days since Isabela spoke made that very clear to him. The words and the need for such words were frighteningly new. “I don't want another day to pass without telling you how I feel.”

Hawke's fingers slid around his arm, out of direct sight, but reassuring. She nodded at the papers spread out on the ground, covered in his writing, and grinned. “Is it in verse? I'd like it in verse.”

He felt his ears warm, realizing how many scratched out and rewritten sheets lying there were obviously poetry. He shook his head and admitted, “That's Arcanum.” He wasn't sure if he hoped or dreaded that she could read it.

Hawke shrugged like she didn't. 

She still held him by his arm, and that alone gave him hope.

“I thought after Justice and leaving the Wardens, friendship and love were over for me. I can't give you a normal life, even as much as any other apostate.” He gripped her wrist once more, before letting his arm drop. His arm felt so much colder now. “I'll come tonight if your door is open. If not, I'll know you...”

Hawke glared at him before he could finish and just left him with his mouth hanging open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some bits of this are reworks of canon dialogue. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.


	14. Cherish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders is waiting to visit Hawke at her home, hoping her door will be open and hoping she will keep it locked and stay safe...

_**She is a distraction! She was never their prisoner or feared their Tranquility!** _

He wanted to snort at the spirit's outrage as he gathered his papers again. For once that disagreement didn't bother him as much. As he smoothed and arranged the papers into small piles, his early comparisons of lips and Hawke being his queen were just a little silly now. 

He still believed that just as much, but more important was that she was life itself, stubborn, resilient and free. Life that found its green way into the darkest part his Warden taint with death all around. His gift from the Maker let him encourage any spark of life. But Hawke _was_ that verdant spark, denying the Templars their death from sword or Tranquility, and denying even the Wardens' obsession with meaningful death.

Not that he wasn't obsessed with burying himself in her instead. Each small touch and glance was magnified beyond all measure in his imagination night after night as he pleasured himself. Those nights were ever more frequent as he ran out of distractions from her touch and smell.

He could no more turn away from her life than fail to try to heal a child.

_**She does not truly hunt Templars. She won't kill Templars like Thrask to free mages. She is selfish. She prevents our work!** _

He remembered her face after their kiss, and how she felt so soft even with their armor between them.

_**She distracts you even now from your patients and our cause! The Templars who murdered Karl must face justice, must pay for all the mages they harmed. She...** _

_Shut up. I have patients now, right?_

His spirit quieted as he moved over to speak with Elessah, who was gaining skill in making salves and potions. Underneath, his bubbling joy and wary fear alternated as the afternoon hours passed.

He kept remembering how they kissed and how her fingers snuck under his robes to make his skin burn for her. How he felt saner and hopeful for just holding her. 

_**You are addicted to her, like some fiend who sucks away your dedication! You are weak...** _

_...happily weak. She's my muse, my north star, my hope. When I'm not sure if I'm still a man, she reminds me by her very presence. She may not be a mage, but she is our advocate, partisan, champion, and friend, even when her sister is safe now._

He frowned at a salve he was making. _She is my Aura, so shut it._ Finally there was a small silence and he returned to his work, anticipating her lips.

When the time came to wash and dress in cleaner robes, his fears crowded his mind again. She'd glared at him when she left. Was that because she finally listened to him? Was she disappointed with him that he was too desperate? Or was she tired of ignoring his warnings? Did she want an easier lover like Isabela? Was he taking her stubbornness for granted? Had did he disgust her with Justice always watching? 

_Would her door be open?_

As he walked to the large stone building in Hightown, he worried about _which_ door might be locked. He didn't want to have to explain himself to Sandal, or worse, Leandra Hawke. Did he want the door unguarded because he was afraid to speak earlier? Would she just lock the door to her room and he would have to return to the darkness of his closet?

Would he be attacked on the street?

That would be simpler, removing his worries from his control.

The Hawke mansion was quiet and the door unlocked. He tried to remember if that was any different than usual for this time of day, but he entered and locked the door behind him. He heard a quiet sound down the hall where the servants' quarters were, but no one came out of the shadows to speak to him.

In a dream, he climbed the stair to the landing where he saw her door with the family crest on both sides. A stray thought made him wonder if the party girl at Kinloch made it... but the light shining through the open door brought his fears crashing down into nothing.

He felt giddy.

Hawke was in a short rose robe of fine materials, her legs bare as she stared into the fire. Visions of those legs, so close and so touchable crowded into his head, making him smirk as he entered.

She looked up and smiled, the golden light from the fireplace warming her face. “I wasn't sure you'd come.”

He still wasn't sure he was here. This meant more to him than earlier lovers of opportunity. “Justice thinks you're a distraction. He doesn't approve of my obsession with you. It is one of the few things on which he and I disagree.”

Hawke's eyes were huge and green when she tilted her head. “If you hadn't come, I'd be out looking for you. The Silent Sisters are active lately.”

Did she want him the way he wanted her? “Are you sure you wouldn't rather be with Isabela?”

She glared at him as she took a quick step forward. “Haven't you been paying attention _at all?_ I'm _not_ interested in her that way! Varric would be a bigger threat if Bianca didn't have his heart. Give me some credit for knowing what I want.”

He looked away, hunching for a moment against her anger... and against the results of his jealousy. How could he try to explain? “When I was in the Circle, love was only a game. It gave the Templars too much power if there was something you couldn't stand to lose.”

With her silence, he looked up at her and wondered what she was thinking. He had trouble speaking into her silence. “It would kill me to lose you, Aldera.”

Hawke stepped closer and touched his arm gingerly. “You aren't going to lose me.”

Hope growing again, he reached up to cup her cheek. His magic flowed out ahead of his hand, jumping into her like it belonged. “No mage I've known has ever dared to fall in love. This is the rule I most cherish breaking.”

This kiss he wanted to be less raw. He wanted to show her how much he cherished her. She leaned against him as they carefully explored each other, more sweetly.

When he straightened, his desire held like a timeless pause in the Fade. He looked into her eyes, darkened with desire. Any gift from the Maker for words fled, and he could only stare at Hawke in wonder.

She smiled up at him and stepped backwards, drawing him with her toward the bed and he followed like in a dream.

When the back of her legs hit the bed, she dropped backwards with a bounce and short wail as she lost her footing. Her feet tangling with him, he fell forward and landed on her, feeling the wince as his water bottle whacked her knee.

“Maker! I'm sorry, Hawke.” Even as his arms reached around her, his magic flooded out to heal the mishap. 

Her eyes weren't as hazy from lust after she'd been healed, but she giggled. “Maybe you're wearing too much.”

Grinning after another hard kiss, he settled in the cradle of her legs. “Maybe, maybe not.” His hand slipped up under her short hemline and gloried in the skin he felt, his heart beating hard enough to burst out of him as he kept tasting.

Her hands slid lower as well, trying to find the edge of his coat. 

Her clever, clever fingers traced up along his leg to the bare skin of his flank and he grinned at the surprise in her eyes. “I didn't say I wasn't _good_ at those games.” 

Hawke grinned back and he wanted her to look at him like that for the rest of his life. Her own mix of lust, humor, and affection gave him a feeling of calm. Until she brushed fabric where he was hard and cloth was only in the way.

With that, he nearly tore his coat off until it left them skin against skin where it was most important and delicious.

Hawke looked up at him in challenge. “Prove it.”

He grinned down at her and shifted so she felt his hardness move away and she made a noise. “I thought you were going to ask for something _hard_... maybe not.” _This will be fun._

Hawke yanked him down by his shirt with a bite, impatient too.

\-- x --

He woke up in a soft bed alone, half afraid that holding her close as she slept had been another vivid daydream. He looked around and saw Hawke looking at the embers of the fire in the gray light before dawn. Her robe looked rumpled now, but she was smiling at the fireplace.

Rising from the bed, he moved to stand beside her, half-afraid this was only a temporary liaison for her. It wasn't for him. “I love you. I've been holding back on saying that. You should have a normal life, and not be tied down to a fugitive with no future. But I don't _ever_ want to leave you.”

She smiled tolerantly at this speech. Humor glinted as she shook her head the tiniest bit. “Want a sandwich?”

He had to laugh at her ignoring his warning, though she had plenty of practice. “Hawke, you will be an inspiration to generations of romantic poets.”

She tapped his nose and smirked. “I'll leave that to Varric and his stories. With Warden appetites and I hope we have enough food.”

He bent over for another kiss, he wasn't hungry for food yet. 

His nagging fear returned because of what she hadn't said. “Not to bring up anything unpleasant, but some Templars were nosing around the clinic yesterday, It's possible I may need somewhere to go in the near future...” He steeled himself. “Would here be an option?”

“Are you asking to move in?” She seemed surprised.

He felt awkward from even asking, was he going too fast? Anything like this had been to fast for him once. “Well, yes. I thought you might appreciate not having to step over the drunkards in Darktown, every time you want to see me. What do you say?” He looked at her, hoping and pleading. He didn't want to throw away what little dignity he had, but he was willing to beg.

Her hands sliding along his arms, she pulled him closer and simply said, “I love you, Anders.”

“Do you mean that? Would you tell the world, the Knight-Commander, that you love an apostate and will stand beside him?” _Was this real,_ _or a delusion_ _?_

She didn't reply aloud, more than a brief kiss as she pulled him back toward the bed. Instead of lying down, she grabbed blankets and pillows and shoved them into his arms before leading him upstairs. Up on the roof where the sun was just cresting the horizon, she dropped what she carried. Sweet flower scents in the planters nearby filled the clean air on the patio above Kirkwall. A dawn breeze ruffled her loose hair and sunshine lit the sides of the mountains on the horizon. “I want you here with me, until the day we die.”

Dropping what he carried, he pulled her close again to taste sunshine and freedom and Hawke. All he wanted for himself was here, leaving the darkness into air and sunshine with Hawke beside him. He pulled her down with him, frantically helping her spread out the blankets until it was just them holding each other in the fresh air as their heartbeats slowed again.

He lightly brushed her cheek down to her chin, like he had so many hundreds of times in his daydreams. Hawke looked at him with a small smile, as this time his touch ended on her lips.

He wanted to trail kisses all over her again and again, to make her as addicted to him as he was to her. He needed to feel her feel her cry his name, lost in lust. He ached to continue here in the bright negation of his past, but he had one more confession. “For three years, I have lain awake every night aching for you, love. I'm still terrified I'll wake up.”

“That aching was your _own_ fault!” Hawke grinned, but she smacked his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chunks of the dialogue are canon, but as ever, this is about Anders' view. Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> _The Dragon Age world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to Bioware. Some charactrtd are mine. I get no money for writing this story._


End file.
